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<title>Cut to the Feeling by DahliaFey (orphan_account)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479942">Cut to the Feeling</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DahliaFey'>DahliaFey (orphan_account)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mass Effect: Andromeda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 10:14:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,241</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26479942</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DahliaFey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no mistaking it now, the great gulf of culture differences between them isn’t that wide. Two million lightyears of dark space aside, this nervous energy fluttering inside of her is universal.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Evfra de Tershaav/Female Ryder | Sara</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>50</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cut to the Feeling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One thing’s for damn sure; the angara know how to party. The tavetaan on Aya is full to bursting with music and laughter, whooping and hollering. Sara is breathless as Jaal whirls her around in what he assures her is a traditional folk dance, and when the song ends, she claps along with everyone else, high on their exuberance as much as the tavum and mystery-fruit juice cocktails they’ve plied her with all night.</p><p>“My turn now!” Peebee cuts in, shoving herself between Sara and Jaal, taking his hands in hers as the band starts up again.</p><p>Sara laughs and takes her exit from the makeshift dancefloor, weaving between couples and friends until she’s back at the bar. She calls for another drink.</p><p>“You’re light on your feet for a human.” It’s Evfra, propping up the bar, somehow managing to retain his aloof and detached aura even at the party of the century.</p><p>Sara grins. She’d wondered if he’d be here. “Were you watching me dance?”</p><p>“Hard not to.”</p><p>She waits for him to continue, expecting to hear some witty remark about her lack of grace or rhythm, but he leaves it there, something akin to a smirk tilting his features.</p><p>Is he flirting with her? She’s flirted with him plenty, but she doesn’t know what to do now it’s being directed back at her, so she sidesteps it. “Aren’t you going to dance, Evfra?”</p><p>He snorts. “Is that a serious question?”</p><p>“Maybe. It’s always the quiet ones.”</p><p>“Is it?” His stoicism is unchanging.</p><p>She holds his unwavering gaze for as long as she can, before giggling into her drink. Oh, Evfra. So steadfast and sturdy, a deadpan bulwark with some inexplicable magnetic pull on her. Whenever she’s on Aya, she makes a point to seek him out, to poke the bear, desperate for his approval and his attention. There’s just something about men with scars…</p><p>“What’s funny?” He doesn’t sound moody or suspicious, but rather interested.</p><p>She smiles up at him, and he’s moved closer, towering above her and leaning in to hear her over the din.</p><p>“Nothing. I’m just so fucking relieved that we all get to be here together to celebrate.”</p><p>His eyes lose their hard edge. “That makes two of us.”</p><p>They lean with their backs to the bar, shoulder to shoulder, finishing their drinks and watching the revellers dance. It’s companionable and comfortable, and she wishes they could have had more moments just like this one.</p><p>“Is that—is that your brother dancing with Moshae Sjefa?”</p><p>“What?” She follows his gaze, and sure enough, Scott is twirling the moshae around and around as she laughs in delight. Sara looks at Evfra askance, waiting for his sour expression to resurface, but it never does.</p><p>Instead, he chuckles, shaking his head. “Two Ryders. What is Heleus in for?”</p><p>She elbows him in the ribs. “You’ll have to wait and see like everyone else.”</p><p>His brow quirks, like how a human would raise an eyebrow. She remembers herself, stepping away. Is she being too familiar?</p><p>He follows her, entering her space again, gazing down at her with eyes that are almost soft. “Would you walk with me, Pathfinder? There’s something I want to discuss.”</p><p>Walk with him, alone? There’ll probably be more Resistance business talk than hand-holding, but still. “Lead the way.”</p><p>He guides her through the crowd, cutting them a path as even the drunkest partygoers step aside out of reverence, slapping him on the back as they go and raising their glasses. Sara sticks close behind him so as not to get swallowed up again by the enveloping throng, and resists the urge to cling to his arm like a child. He’s so much taller and broader than her, she already feels small enough in comparison.</p><p>They make their way through the burgeoning street party, and at last into the quiet of the Resistance Headquarters, empty for the first time in decades. It’s cooler in here without the heat of a hundred pressing bodies, and Sara blinks back to almost-full alertness, the haze of drunkenness receding as the HQ door slides shut behind her.</p><p>Evfra walks over to the window and gazes out over Aya, his back to her, and for once he’s not the figure of a leader with the fate of a people on his shoulders, but just a man.</p><p>Sara stands there just inside the door, fidgeting in the silence. “So, what’s up?”</p><p>“I thought if I could get you here, the rest would be easy, but I—" He heaves a sigh. “I still don’t know what to say to you.”</p><p>If he’s not careful, she’s going to get the ultimate wrong idea here. Her honorary-angara badge is still shiny and new, and she’s not quite mastered their body language and emotional tells, but it almost sounds like he’s bracing himself to confess that he has <em>feelings.</em></p><p>She moves further into the room, stopping by his desk and fiddling with the edge of a datapad that sits there. “I thought angara were supposed to be free with their emotions?”</p><p>“Freer than you people.” He turns to her, and he looks almost sad. “I’ve been alone for a long time, living this half-life. I suppose I’m out of practise.”</p><p>There’s no mistaking it now, the great gulf of culture differences between them isn’t <em>that </em>wide. Two million lightyears of dark space aside, this nervous energy fluttering inside of her is universal.</p><p>“You don’t have to cut yourself off from everyone anymore.” She rounds the desk and stands right before him. “Tell me what you feel.”</p><p>He meets her eyes, and with a tentative hand he reaches out to stroke a lock of her hair that falls down over her shoulder. She didn’t know he could be so gentle.</p><p>“When we got the first holos of your kind on Kadara,” he says, “I thought you were such strange, spindly creatures with dull skin and ridiculous hair.”</p><p>Come on, Evfra. You can do better than that. “That’s really flattering, but maybe we can cut to the feeling?” He frowns, and she hurries to explain. “Sorry, that’s an idiom. It means—”</p><p>He leans down, his huge hand encompassing the back of her head and tilting her up towards him. “I know what it means,” he says, before pressing his scarred lips to hers.</p><p>Finally. She sinks into him, awkwardly wrapping her arms around his bulky frame. His mouth is hot, and softer than she’d imagined, and everywhere he touches leaves a tingling static across her skin.</p><p>She’s thought about what it would be like to kiss him, more times than she can count, but always in an unobtainable, fantastical way that never seemed within reach. He’s real now, and solid and warm. He tastes of tavum.</p><p>He kisses her with a slow, deliberate intensity, and she just wants to be closer to him. She squeezes her body against his and leans up as much as she can, circling her arms around his cowl and gripping onto the fabric of the neck wrap he wears.</p><p>His hand goes to the small of her back, supporting her when she falters on her tiptoes, and even when their kiss runs its course, he holds her to him, his head resting on her shoulder.</p><p>God knows his edges are still all kinds of rough, but maybe she’s managed to smooth him down just a little. She wants to see where this goes.</p>
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